Ángel listened to this with growing bewilderment. “I don’t understand this. Marissa is my best friend, closer than family. She would never write anything that would put me in danger, or you either. She’s not a . . . She’s a drummer. She tends bar. She’s not a secret agent. We don’t write to each other in code.”

“I told you I don’t like lies, Ángel,” said Chandler, folding her arms over her chest.

Ángel spread his hands incredulously.

“Why would she address the letter to you as if you were a woman?” asked Chandler.

“I don’t know. She doesn’t, usually.”

“Why would she sign a name other than her own?”

“I don’t know.” Ángel chewed his lip “Sometimes she calls me Angie or Angela. And I call her Mickey. Is that what she did? It’s just to be silly. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Chandler was clearly more in the mood to ask questions than to answer them. “In your email to Marissa, you alerted her to the fact that security would be reading her reply. How did you expect her to respond to that?”

“Chandler, I don’t know. We’ve never been in a situation like this before; we didn’t plan to . . .” She looked skeptical. Impatiently, he said, “Just let me read the letter. I can’t interpret it if you won’t let me read it.”

“And if you do interpret it,” asked Chandler, “will you explain it? Or will you keep Marissa’s secrets?”

Ángel stared at her. “I can’t answer that without knowing what the letter says.”

Chandler looked him like a doctor examining a specimen, and then turned briskly to Oberon. “I’m not sure we can risk it. I’ll send a man to Miami to interview the girl and make sure that she’s not being coerced in any way, and in the meantime—”

“No,” said Ángel loudly, standing up, his face hot. In an instant all his fear and anxiety had changed to anger. “Leave her alone.”

“In the meantime,” pressed Chandler, “we should quarantine Ángel from any further communications.”

Ángel’s temper snapped. “No you don’t. You give me that letter, or I’m walking out of here.” Her mouth tightened, but he overrode her. “No!” he said again, glaring between her and Oberon. “This is the fucking end of enough. You can take back the money and go ahead and prosecute my dad—he can face the consequences of his fuckup. You let me have my letters from Marissa, or I’m going over the wall.”

Chandler’s face was like stone. “There could be legal consequences for you if you break your contract with the DOR.”

“Then I’ll go to jail!” cried Ángel. “Where I’ll have no privacy, no right to come and go, and I’ll get my letters from Marissa!”

“Enough,” said Oberon, quietly.

Ángel glared at Chandler, nearly vibrating with fury.